


Whole Existence is Flawed; Bring Me Closer to God

by education



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Sex, Blood and Gore, M/M, Rough Sex, Violent Sex, Werewolf Reveal, Werewolf Sex, Xeno, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/education/pseuds/education
Summary: "Who's to say I even remember your given name?" Dorian asks.
Relationships: Ethan Chandler/Dorian Gray
Comments: 8
Kudos: 92
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Whole Existence is Flawed; Bring Me Closer to God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boywonder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/boywonder/gifts).



Stepping outside, Ethan discovers that the moon has the street lit up almost as bright as the sun itself would. He didn’t realize that he’d let the week pass him in a blur. The itching under his skin suddenly makes a whole lot more sense.

His nose twitches, catching a far-off scent. Mint, lavender. He turns the corner sharply, nearly running into a man, and pays no mind to the affront directed at his back. It's easy to follow, Ethan's feet carrying him three streets over, another two down, into the working-class of the EastEnd, all the way up to a door guarded by a man that sizes Ethan up for a moment before waving him through.

Dorian's at the bar, speaking in quiet tones to a man that must have emigrated from the East. Ethan claims a spot right at Dorian's back, raising two fingers at the barman to get his attention, and accepting the nod to wait that he gets in return.

"Funny seeing you here." He takes the hat from his head and sets it down on the bar between Doran and himself.

Dorian doesn't startle, his head tilting just slightly to the side. "Mr Chandler." There isn't much of his face that Ethan can see while positioned at Dorian's back. The man Dorian had been speaking with picks up his drink and steps away, melting into the crowd. "I hadn't known you kept company here."

The barman comes and Ethan gives him his order, watching the pour. That sorted, the man leaves them, seeing to another customer.

"Oh, I frequent all sorts of places." He looks at Dorian over the rim of his drink, tipping it in Dorian's direction before taking a sip.

The smile Dorian gives him is thin, far-off and distracted. "I imagine you do." Ethan notices that he hasn't got a drink of his own. There isn't any sort of gambling going on that Ethan can hear; he wonders what sort of draw this place would have for Dorian, if any. Though the night is young, he supposes.

Whatever the reason, Ethan doesn't much care for the man's apathy. "What are you getting up to, then?" he asks. "I can't imagine this is all that you've got planned for the evening."

Dorian's eyes stop their drifting amongst the crowd and settle on Ethan for the first time since he arrived. "And what is it that you imagine?"

"It depends." Ethan takes another pull from his drink. "Imagining in the abstract, or with regards to you in the specific?"

He hadn't realized that Dorian had been leaned against the bar. The air shifts as he stands to his full height. He takes a step closer and Ethan's mind fogs with the scent that brought him here to begin with, thick and heady.

Dorian's voice is pitched a bit lower than usual, conspiratorial. Ethan takes a step closer, ducking his head down so that his ear is at the height of Dorian's lips. "I get the feeling that tonight those two things aren't all that different," he says. "Well, I suppose that I'll leave you to your imaginings then, Mr Chandler."

Ethan's hand shoots out, grabbing Dorian's arm faster than Dorian can move away. His brows furrow, and his eyes go from looking at Ethan's fingers gripping the sleeve of his shirt and up to meet Ethan's own.

"You can call me by my name, you know." Ethan sets his drink down on the counter, freeing up his hand. His other is still firm in its grip on Dorian. "I'd say we know one another well enough."

Cold fingers settle atop his, making Ethan realize just how warm his own skin is. Dorian's fingers are too-soft, as if the man hasn't done a single day's work in his life, not even a pen's callous on them.

"Who's to say I even remember your given name?" Dorian asks.

Ethan stares at him for a moment, blinking. He smiles, slow, the majority of it concentrated at the corners of his mouth.

Dorian returns it. Ethan wonders how a man can look both apathetic and vicious at the same time. Though perhaps there isn't anything as vicious as apathy.

"Ethan." Dorian's nails dig into his skin ever so slightly. "I'm not overly fond of repeat performances, you know."

Ethan lets go of him, and feels a measure of satisfaction in the way Dorian's hand holds his for a moment longer before releasing him in turn. He grabs his drink and finishes it, setting it back down onto the counter and then reaching into his pocket, pulling his billfold. "You seem very certain that it'll be the same, this time around."

Something in Dorian shifts. Ethan's nose picks it up before any other part of him does. It's a wave, his pheromones becoming stronger, the tilt of his hips, the angle of his chin, the focus of his gaze. All of it aimed in Ethan's direction.

"People don't change," Dorian says, a marked change in his voice as well. An interest. "Especially in this. It's so hard for anyone to be who they truly are, at their most base of selves, when it comes to this."

Ethan considers that. "Suppose someone had two selves." The barman comes and collects the payment Ethan set down on the counter. "Or that their most base self wasn't what you thought it was, at any rate."

Dorian's breathing has picked up, looking the most interested Ethan's ever seen him. It's almost as if they're on their own, all the noises and distractions and smells gone. It's gratifying to see Dorian in such a state. He's finally arrived where Ethan's been all this time. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Ethan smiles at him. "When's the next full moon, do you think?"

"Tomorrow," Dorian says. Hesitation flashes across his eyes in the instant after he's answered, uncharacteristically seeming to reconsider. "Or is it tonight?" Ethan finds himself charmed with Dorian's general disconnect with the mortal coil. He seems so wholeheartedly bored with the world for so young a man, but Ethan figures that he must have been sheltered to feel do. It must show on his face. Dorian's expression shifts from insecurity to insolence without so much as a blink. "Does it matter? The moon is hardly any the more unexpected than a person can be. Is there so great a difference between a full moon as a new one? It’s all the same cycle."

Ethan takes his hat and settles it on his head. "I think you'll find it makes all the difference."

x x x

Dorian's soft hands are gentle at the sides of Ethan's face, though his thighs are stronger than the look of them would let on, tight at Ethan's hips, supporting his weight where Ethan has him pinned against the wall.

He tilts his mouth away each time Ethan tries to kiss him, the man a statue unless Ethan turns himself gentle.

The lack of control eats at Ethan. The rejection. Rage simmers within him. His skin itches again.

"Thought you didn't want it like last time," he says.

Dorian seems to ignore him, his holding Ethan close the extent of his active involvement. Ethan can smell his arousal, can feel the physicality of it in the firm press against his stomach. Eventually Dorianasks, "Am I the one making it so?"

Ethan grew up with a whole slew of men like Dorian, a sweet, candy coating hiding the depths of their cruelty, unconcerned with the lives of others. Untouched by the world's suffering thanks to their own apathy, the walls of society ensuring that they needn't see anything they wouldn't want to bother themselves with. The world wouldn't miss Dorian any more than it does the ancient peoples of history, or any of the nameless faces that go missing each night in the here and now. The world might be better off with him gone.

His skin itches.

"What would you give," Ethan asks, lips pressed tight to the skin of Dorian's throat. "To experience something new? Something you couldn't even begin to imagine?"

Dorian's breath catches in his throat. His fingernails dig into Ethan's shoulders, the shirt that had been covering them now tangled down near his elbows. Dorian's nose bumps into his.

"Anything."

x x x

Dorian stopped making noises about an hour ago, his anguished grunts now labored breaths. Ethan experiences each of them as a physical thing, the reaction of Dorian's body around his cock, the press of his back against Ethan's body, Ethan's nose buried into the thick hair gazing his neck, teeth dug into the delicate skin there.

He feels removed from himself, so inundated with sensation that it leaves him almost numb until one sense manages to crest above the rest. The hot rush off Dorian's blood over his tongue, the slick catch of his hips where Ethan's nails have mauled and torn the skin there, the heady scent of his fear, the loud beat of his heart, never seeming to quiet.

Ethan's never done this before. It's a battle against himself, staying present enough to remember that the whole point is to relinquish control. Fighting against the hard-fought habit of wanting to come back to himself, to stop himself.

Dorian seems to realize that his concentration has slipped. He gets an arm under himself, giving himself enough leverage to ram his other elbow right in Ethan's middle.

It throws him, causing his thrusts to stutter, the animal-instinct of his mind stalling out. Ethan snuffs at the cold air of Dorian's bedroom. Dorian flips over onto his side, contorting his body, pale face staring up at Ethan with wide, glassy eyes.

Ethan snarls at him. He hadn't wanted Dorian to see him like this. It's bad enough when Ethan is himself, but looking as rough as he does on nights such as these, as ugly, Ethan can't bear it, enough pride still within him to see him becoming enraged.

Dorian tries to reach for his face, but Ethan catches his hand before he manages it, pinning it back down onto the mattress, the sharp edge off his nails cutting into his wrists, staining the bed.

He tries to speak and chokes, blood dripping out from the side of his soft mouth, down his chin. Ethan realizes that he's got his other hand around Dorian's throat, cutting off his air.

When he relaxes his grip, slightly, Dorian smiles. Blood has gathered in the contours of his teeth, turning his usually impish grin vicious. He swallows once, loud even under the heavy grunt of Ethan's breathing.

"Marvelous," Dorian chokes out.

x x x

Ethan wakes with a gasp, suddenly alert and full of regret. His eyes darted around the room. The mattress is still wet beneath him, his skin tacky, itching with dried blood. His throat clicks when he swallows.

The night comes back to him, all the abuse he'd leveled Dorian with appearing before him in flashes that make little sense and feels more damned for it. Ethan covers his face with his hands.

It isn't at all like the other times he's lost control of himself. He'd planned this. Let that wild part of his mind convince himself that Dorian deserved it, as if anyone could ever, especially the likes of Dorian, who likely hadn't done much hurt beyond breaking a few hearts.

A hand lands on his hip, slipping down to cup his groin.

Ethan bolts from the bed.

Dorian's covered in as much gore as Ethan himself, but the wounds Ethan knows he bit and clawed into every inch of Dorian's body are nowhere to be found.

He licks his lips. Maybe he's finally lost it this time. On the bed, Dorian sits up against the backboard. His dick is at half-mast, and his eyes are trained on Ethan, interest blatant.

"How?" Ethan asks.

Dorian becomes giddy, pushing his bangs out of his face, making them a wild slope sticking up at his forehead.

"Ethan, would you care to see something you couldn't ever dream of?"


End file.
